Essays on Russian Novelists | Page 7

own likeness to Rudin. Mrs. Ritchie has given a
very pleasant unconscious testimony to this fact.
"Just then my glance fell upon Turgenev leaning against the doorpost at
the far end of the room, and as I looked, I was struck, being
shortsighted, by a certain resemblance to my father [Thackeray], which
I tried to realise to myself. He was very tall, his hair was grey and
abundant, his attitude was quiet and reposeful; I looked again and again
while I pictured to myself the likeness. When Turgenev came up after
the music, he spoke to us with great kindness, spoke of our father, and
of having dined at our house, and he promised kindly and willingly to
come and call next day upon my sister and me in Onslow Gardens. I
can remember that next day still; dull and dark, with a yellow mist in
the air. All the afternoon I sat hoping and expecting that Turgenev
might come, but I waited in vain. Two days later, we met him again at
Mrs. Huth's, where we were all once more assembled. Mr. Turgenev
came straight up to me at once. 'I was so sorry that I could not come
and see you,' he said, 'so very sorry, but I was prevented. Look at my
thumbs!' and he held up both his hands with the palms outwards. I
looked at his thumbs, but I could not understand. 'See how small they
are,' he went on; 'people with such little thumbs can never do what they
intend to do, they always let themselves be prevented;' and he laughed
so kindly that I felt as if his visit had been paid all the time and quite
understood the validity of the excuse."*
*"Blackstick Papers," 1908
It is seldom that the national characteristic reveals itself so playfully; it
is more likely to lead to tragedy. This cardinal fact may militate greatly
against Russia's position as a world-power in the future, as it has in the

past. Her capacity for passive resistance is enormous--Napoleon
learned that, and so did Frederick. A remarkable illustration of it was
afforded by the late Japanese war, when Port Arthur held out long after
the possible date assigned by many military experts. For positive
aggressive tactics Russia is just as weak nationally as her men are
individually. What a case in point is the Duma, of which so much was
expected! Were a majority of that Duma Anglo-Saxons, we should all
see something happen, and it would not happen against Finland. One
has only to compare it with the great parliamentary gatherings in
England's history.*
* Gogol said in "Dead Souls," "We Russians have not the slightest
talent for deliberative assemblies."
Perhaps if the membership were exclusively composed of women,
positive results would show. For, in Russian novels, the irresolution of
the men is equalled only by the driving force of the women. The
Russian feminine type, as depicted in fiction, is the incarnation of
singleness of purpose, and a capacity to bring things to pass, whether
for good or for evil. The heroine of "Rudin," of "Smoke," of "On the
Eve," the sinister Maria of "Torrents of Spring," the immortal Lisa of
"A House of Gentlefolk," the girl in Dostoevski's "Poor Folk;" Dunia
and Sonia, in "Crime and Punishment"--many others might be called to
mind. The good Russian women seem immensely superior to the men
in their instant perception and recognition of moral values, which gives
them a chart and compass in life. Possibly, too, the women are stiffened
in will by a natural reaction in finding their husbands and brothers so
stuffed with inconclusive theories. One is appalled at the prodigious
amount of nonsense that Russian wives and daughters are forced to
hear from their talkative and ineffective heads of houses. It must be
worse than the metaphysical discussion between Adam and the angel,
while Eve waited on table, and supplied the windy debaters with
something really useful.
To one who is well acquainted with American university
undergraduates, the intellectual maturity of the Russian or Polish
student and his eagerness for the discussion of abstract problems in
sociology and metaphysics are very impressive. The amount of space
given in Russian novels to philosophical introspection and debate is a
truthful portrayal of the subtle Russian mind. Russians love to talk;

they are strenuous in conversation, and forget their meals and their
sleep. I have known some Russians who will sit up all night, engaged
in the discussion of a purely abstract topic, totally oblivious to the
passage of time. In "A House of Gentlefolk," at four o'clock in the
morning, Mihalevich is still talking about the social duties of Russian
landowners, and he roars out, "We are sleeping, and the time is slipping
away; we are sleeping!" Lavretsky replies, "Permit